Home, Stay, Love
by fleurofthecourt
Summary: After his brush with death, Sam and Dean take care of Cas. [Dean/Cas, episode tag s12e12 Stuck in the Middle with You]


A/N: I wrote several fanfics in 2017 that I posted on AO3 but that I guess never made it here. This was written during s12 after the whole ordeal with Cas almost dying from being stabbed by Michael's lance. I felt like Cas needed all of the TLC after that episode, so this is what came of that:

* * *

Home

Cas knows he's fine.

He does.

All the ugly, cracked black lines have faded from his skin. He checked himself once he was in the backseat of the Impala, Mary checked again after she climbed in next to him - a strange look of guilt plastering her face - and Sam and Dean checked once more after they took Mary back to her car (and protested in earnest when he tried to go back to his truck).

He's fine, he knows he's fine, but he feels off - drained and unsettled. There's a lingering phantom sensation of pain ghosting over him, and he's exhausted, physically and emotionally.

They refused to leave him. The Winchesters all refused to leave him.

They fought to save him.

He's overwhelmed, really.

He makes a strangely strangled sound as he chokes something back against his dry and tightening throat, and the car jerks as Dean slams on the brakes. "Cas?"

Sam shifts to look over the seat and gives him a once over. "How you doing, Cas?"

"I'm fine," he says reflexively. It's a human lie that passes his lips easily anymore. Of course, right now, it's technically the truth. Well, he thinks it is. But Sam gives him a look that plainly says that's bullshit, and he amends, "I'm exhausted. Dying is exhausting."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean agrees, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, "and you still look like crap."

He imagines he does. His clothes are still ripped and tattered and parts of him are covered in dried blood. He sighs. "Less hammered crap, perhaps."

Dean snorts. "Yeah. Well, you gonna make it back to the bunker in one piece? Cause if you're ready to get some proper shut eye, we'll stop."

"I don't need to sleep."

Even as he says it, he feels how heavily his eyelids are drooping.

"Like hell you don't. I'm tired just looking at you."

"I know you don't need to sleep, Cas, but maybe you should try to? I mean, you just almost died. That's not something you should just bounce back from."

He nods as he leans into the seat. "I think you're both right. I should sleep."

"Of course we're right," Dean says, then his voice softens, "you'll feel better. That was quite an ordeal."

"Yes, it was, and now I'd ..." Cas surprises even himself by yawning, "I'd really like to go home."

The word itself feels foreign on his tongue; he's not used to home meaning Sam, Dean, and the bunker, even though it has for quite some time.

He didn't think it was his word to use - only theirs.

"Home it is," Dean says as his eyes flick back to the road.

But it is.

Dean said that it is.

So it must be.

Tears prick at his half closed eyes, and he fights against that strangled sound again.

He has a family.

He has a home.

He belongs.

XXX

Stay

They're an hour outside Lebanon when they stop for gas, and Cas doesn't so much as stir.

"I'll fill her up." Dean's hands are gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, and Sam knows he's still worried, still afraid that Cas isn't really okay.

He can't even bring himself to look in the backseat.

"You want to check on him?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure he's fine, Dean," Sam says, more to reassure Dean than anything.

Whatever Michael's lance had done, well, he wasn't going to just believe Cas was totally recovered either, at least not yet, not without a little more evidence.

He waits until Dean's handling the gas pump to climb in the backseat.

He reaches down and gently pulls Cas' shirt up, looking at where the wound had been. There's still some dried blood on his skin, but otherwise, there's no trace the wound was ever there. It looks as good as if Cas had healed it himself.

And it has every time they've checked, but none of them have completely let go of the fear that it's going to come back.

He doesn't even think Cas has.

He pulls Cas' shirt back down, and Cas abruptly jerks in his sleep before raising two bleary eyes at him, and Sam rests his hand on his forearm. "Hey, buddy, you're okay. It's just me. Go back to sleep."

"Sam?" He croaks, his voice is withered, and Sam keeps his hand pressed reassuringly on his forearm.

"Yeah, Cas, you okay?"

Cas doesn't fully open his eyes, but he nods evenly. "I'm alright, Sam. But my tie... it's uncomfortable."

"Yeah, sure, I'll get it off," Sam says, berating himself slightly for not thinking of that already.

He carefully undoes the knot and considers what else Cas might need that he normally wouldn't. "You want a clean shirt? We've got plenty in a duffel. And we can get you some sweatpants back at the bunker."

"Yes. Thank you, Sam," Cas says earnestly as he shifts against the seat. He sighs wearily. "I thought my grace would have taken care of them by now, but I suppose I'll have to change and clean them 'the old fashion way.'"

"Yeah, looks like," Sam says apologetically as he helps Cas sit up all the way. "Well, let's get your coat off, then I'll grab you a shirt."

Once Cas has pulled one of Dean's henleys on, he squints at the bundle of clothes that Sam now has balled in his lap. "Is there a laundromat near the bunker? One I could walk to?"

Sam blinks, puzzled, then realizes how little Cas actually expects from them.

"What? Cas, no, we're going to get these patched up for you. You're going to take it easy for a few days."

How little he sees himself as someone they want to take care of.

"I still need to find Kelly, Sam."

How he only sees the bunker as a place where he can do his work, yet not a place where he actually belongs, a place where he's meant to stay.

"Yeah, I know you do. We all do. But right now, you need to give yourself a break, okay? Me and Dean can take the lead on Kelly for right now, okay."

But Sam thinks he can help fix what Cas believes.

"We'll keep you in the loop though. Do some work in your room."

"My room?" Cas' squint deepens. "I don't have a room. I don't need a room..."

"Yeah, you do."

XXX

Love

Dean waits until Sam has disappeared with their duffels to rest his hand on Cas' shoulder.

He watches for a moment as Cas' chest rises and falls. He's still alive. He's still breathing.

He's a gift that Dean can't believe he still has.

His heart clenches at the thought that he was almost taken from him.

He rubs at Cas' shoulder blade until blue eyes greet him. "Morning, Sunshine. We're home."

Cas groans and makes a face at him. "It's not morning."

Dean shrugs and offers Cas his hand. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

He leads Cas to the bathroom and has him sit on top of the toilet while he waits for the steady drizzle in the shower to warm.

He leaves the water running as he takes a warm washcloth to Cas' face, carefully scrubbing the dried blood from his forehead and cheeks. Cas barely flinches, and Dean doesn't say a word.

He knows what he should say.

He knows what he feels.

Cas is a gift.

A gift he instructs to get in the shower. A gift he leaves the bunker's best towels and a change of clothes for. A gift he shows to a freshly cleaned room.

The room is bare but for the bed and a mostly empty bookshelf, but Cas smiles genuinely before he collapses onto the bed.

There's no reason for Dean to stay now.

He wants Cas to get what is clearly much needed rest.

But he lingers in the doorway.

Cas is a gift he doesn't know how long he'll have.

He takes off his shoes.

He takes off his jeans and folds them over a chair in the corner.

He hesitates a moment then he climbs into Cas' bed and crawls under the covers.

He wraps his arms around Cas' midsection and buries his face in his hair.

His heart beats fast against Cas' back, and his eyes are brimming.

Cas is a gift, and he knows what he feels.

He whispers it into his hair. "I love you, Cas."


End file.
